Blaine's sweater vests
by Nightingale63
Summary: A one-shot story, set right after Goodbye, with a pensive Blaine putting away his off-season sweater vest, and pondering what's next for Kurt.


**Blaine's sweater vests: a one-shot about so much more than fashion**

**The usual disclaimers apply: I don't own Glee, or Broadway, or any artists I mention here– if I did there would have been a lot more klaine in the Season 3 Finale, Goodbye!**

Blaine smoothed out the cream and navy colored argyle sweater vest, and carefully placed it in the cedar trunk at the bottom of his bed. Many of his favorite sweaters lived there off-season, and at graduation time in Lima the chilly weather was pretty much behind them. He'd awakened too early for a Saturday, and knew from their long visit last night, followed by volleys of texts after he'd gotten home, that once Kurt got to sleep it would be better to let him rest, and stop by a bit later. Kurt's not making it into NYADA had stunned them both, and Blaine was sure Kurt would still be reeling from the shock and loss of that dream (at least in the short term) for he didn't know how long.

Too fidgety to do much of anything, he'd put on some Katy Perry music, and decided to do one of his almost-summer rituals. He smiled to himself, knowing Kurt would approve of this activity. It brought with it some bittersweet memories this time, just like it had last time. He should have expected this, but the memories and a few tears caught him by surprise.

The summer after freshman year, his first at Dalton, he'd gone for a visit to his grand aunt Florence, who lived in Staten Island. Technically a part of New York City, he'd enjoyed his visits there before, visiting his grandmom Anderson's sweet sister. It was a grassy, almost suburban refuge from the City, but a fairly easy commute once you were there.

"Come on, Blaine, oh sleepy-head, time to get out of bed!" she practically sang, that first Saturday morning of that visit. "We've got some big plans for today, but we need to get started!" Blaine smelled the coffee; she drank so much coffee, and it never seemed to bother her what time of day it was, she was always up for a cup. Much as his teenage body begged for more sleep, he knew better than to try, not when his grand aunt was excited about plans. She always woke up so early; then she had coffee, sometimes she made muffins (which he could tell she had today, yum!) and played old school solitaire (with actual cards), while she waited as long as she could stand it before waking him up. By her standards, waiting until 9 AM was really quite restrained.

"Auntie! Mmm, those muffins smell great!" She smiled as Blaine practically hug-tackled her, and gave him a quick peck on his dark curls. She chuckled, knowing that the teen would first eat more muffins than it looked like he could fit, have coffee with lots of half-and-half, down a big cup of juice, and then run off to shower. _And then gel his hair._ Quite a lot, which she hadn't made her mind up about. Her sister Ellen had told her that Blaine was a bit sensitive about his hair, so she hadn't said much about it. She remembered when her own children had been teens, and how they could be so prickly about the littlest things. No matter, she thought, Ellen's charming grandson was adorable either way.

Blaine chattered away happily, curious to know what the plan for today was. His Auntie Florence, however, really wasn't so much a planner as an explorer. So unlike his father; she actually had a reputation for _liking_ getting lost, and even on a day when she had 'plans', it was understood that these would be fluid. "Shoo, young man! I'll be ready to go as soon as you're all dressed. Try not to take a teenage shower this time, OK?"

He deposited a quick kiss on her cheek, calling behind him as he sprinted up the stairs, "no problem, Auntie! I'll be quick, I promise!"

She was pleased; good as his word, he was pretty fast. And then there he stood, neat khakis with a navy belt, and a crisp white polo shirt. Smelling clean, skin a little pink, and hair … very smoothly gelled. Well, it was a bit formal looking, she thought, but it certainly was neat. Not a curl in sight; she wondered if that was the newest style? No matter. She was all dressed for a casual New York Saturday, crisp summer dress, low heels, ready for all the walking she knew they'd be doing.

Blaine remembered that Saturday as one his favorites ever with his dear grand aunt. They'd shared a love of theatre, and she'd scored same-day matinee tickets for Beauty and the Beast, after a lunch at The Creperie. Just walking around the theatre district with her, stopping for snacks whenever they felt like it, letting her buy him touristy New York T-shirts, as well as souvenirs for his family members (he did not have the heart to tell her these would never be displayed), and gushing like star-struck fans at how much they'd loved the show together had been a perfect day.

Florence was glad to see that Dalton had been good for Blaine – he chattered happily about the Warblers and his hopes to become their lead singer some day, complained about the dining hall food, told her all about his new friends, especially David and Wes. What a change from the broken boy who'd had to repeat freshman year after being savagely beaten at a late February Sadie Hawkins dance. She knew that the best she could offer him was to share their loves of their favorite New York haunts and foods, let him talk (and sing! Oh, that boy loved to sing – in the shower, when he was helping out after supper, or even little bits of song as they walked together in Manhattan) and let him talk to her (or not) about the awful events that led to his transfer to Dalton. He didn't bring anything like that up, so she didn't press the matter. She smiled as he chattered on happily, going home on the Staten Island Ferry, both of them enjoying the breeze off the water after the heat of the summer day.

At the end of that week, as Aunt Florence watched him pack to go back on the train to Ohio the next morning, she tapped his shoulder. "Do you have some room left in there, Blaine? If you can fit it, I have something for you."

Blaine smiled. She always did, at the end of one of his visits. He'd had a succession of handmade sweater vests, probably going back to baby-sized. She was always a little shy presenting them, as if worried that he wouldn't want one. "I always have a little room, Auntie!", and he followed her to her room. Amid the storage units, with lots of wool and works-in-progress, she walked over to a drawer with a few sweater vests.

"Do you still wear these kinds of things?" He'd nodded in the affirmative, so she went on, "I made a few of these over the winter... you choose the one you like the most, I'll let your cousins choose theirs when I see them."

"These are so great, Auntie. You're the best!" Blaine gave her his biggest smile, and gave her a bear hug before choosing the cream and navy argyle vest. "This one … I really like it. Thanks, Auntie Florence!"

He remembered how her face lit up at his approval, and she followed him back to the guest room, as he found no difficulty packing it in his suitcase.

That had been his last summer visit with her; she'd died the next May, during his sophomore year. The vest still fit; it had been a bit big at first, but now fit just a bit snugly. He remembered the first time Kurt had seen him in it, that Kurt had appreciated it right away, and had brushed away a tear as Blaine told her, that first fall at McKinley, that his sweet grand aunt Florence had made it, and that he would always miss her, with her dear, and slightly goofy ways.

Blaine closed the lid on the trunk, and was shook from his reverie by his phone, showing a text from Kurt. He was surprised to see the short message: **Good morning, beautiful! Call me right away, I have good news … love you, K.**

**A/N: Dear readers, if you've read this far, I hope you enjoyed this one-shot fic (which also fits in with my longer work in progress, about Blaine's relationship with his hair gel (which is complicated).**

**This was a terribly sad day for me. My mother, who'd recently been ill, and who looked pretty good when I was there not a week ago, died, at about 2PM, on May 23rd. The hours following have been so sad; I am grateful for the time we had with her, but will always feel that she was taken too soon. In August, she would have been 82.**

**I decided one way to honor her would be to write about her, in this case indirectly: Blaine's sweet great aunt is inspired by my mom, Florence. Her quirks are all as represented here, so this is a kind of portrait of her. I think Blaine would have been glad to have her in his life. And, of course, it would explain some of his fondness for sweater vests. Rest in peace, Mom, I love you.**


End file.
